The Statue's Sister
by Illa Darling
Summary: What if Enjolras had a sister? Marianne Enjolras is an odd, grey-eyed girl with the same stubborn pride and compassionate heart as her brother. Her arrival in Paris changes the fates of many, including the life of a young National Guard... the so-called enemy of Enjolras' June Rebellion. Eventual E/E and Marianne/OC
1. Inciting Moment

Chapter One

It was the year 1832.

There lived in France a man, wrinkled and wise in years. His ears had heard many things—the cry of a newborn babe, the laughter of a child, the low whispers of a man. His back was bent with age, and his fingers trembled whenever he poured his coffee. Round spectacles rested at the tip of his nose. The man's name was Monsieur Gervais, and he had lived in Paris since his early years of manhood.

Somewhere on those dirty streets of that city, where the beggars and thieves made their home, there stood a little building. It was not unlike other shops and tenements in appearance; yet it was peculiar in that every afternoon, young men would amble into its shade and remain there until evening. They held their little meetings regularly in a small back room of the building.

The building was called the Café Musain.

Monsieur Gervais owned the Café Musain, and the young visitors who spoke in hushed voices in his back room were familiar faces. He knew each of their names; he knew the habits of one and the habits of another; he knew the purpose of their strange meetings.

If Monsieur Gervais was ever asked what that purpose was, his reply would be: the _abaisse. _

An afternoon would normally go as thus:

"Good afternoon, Jehan."

The slim youth, with fair forehead and rosy cheeks, would smile and nod in response. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Gervais. How do you fare?"

The old man would laugh at the romantic poet—for the wheels in Jean Prouvaire's were made of hearts and roses—and say, "Very well, Jehan! Very well! But go on! The others are waiting for you."

Sometimes he would carry a tray of drinks to refresh the hardworking students. And there he would see Monsieur Enjolras and Monsieur Combeferre talking in murmurs, intent upon their conversation. Monsieur Enjolras would always give him a brief nod and turn back to his companion, fixated upon some debate.

Monsieur Gervais labeled those two men the most serious of the Friends.

Medical student Joly was the happiest; Courfeyrac the loudest; Gavroche, the cheerful little urchin; Bahorel a dandy.

Monsieur Gervais always took care to keep out of the way of one certain young man. Grantaire was a drunkard. Only once, and that was the first time, had the old man crossed Grantaire's road. He had asked the young man a simple question:

"And how do you know Monsieur Enjolras?"

This simple, polite question was answered with a string of retorts, mingled with foul words and mindless jokes. Monsieur Gervais did not speak to him again in more than one or two syllables, and he took care never to give him more than two bottles a day.

The afternoon would usually be quick and uneventful. The young men would discuss important things and less important things, laugh and listen. Then, in the evening, they would leave. As always, they would leave. With a nod, maybe a friendly greeting, or even a little small talk with the owner of the Café, they would wander out the door and go on their separate ways.

Thus, the normal day consisted of Monsieur Gervais waiting to be of any assistance and the young men talking and talking. As long as they were undisturbed, the day was considered routine.

One day, however, something broke this routine. Monsieur Gervais had a new visitor.

It was a young girl, not yet eighteen. Her hair was a dark shade of golden, long and thick; in the shadowy waters of her eyes shifted lights of green and grey. The girl stood a head taller than the old, bent man, her arms held patiently behind her back.

"May I help you, mademoiselle?" said Monsieur Gervais politely. The girl seemed to emit an atmosphere of sovereignty.

Unlike the commanding presence she unconsciously impressed upon strangers, her voice was soft and almost shy. "Is Monsieur Enjolras here?"

Startled, the old man looked closely at her. To have a mistress or even a wife seemed inconsistent with Monsieur Enjolras' character. "Who is asking?" he replied.

"Marianne. My name is Marianne Enjolras."

Was the young lady his wife? Suddenly it dawned upon the old man that this girl was Monsieur Enjolras' sister. How had he not recognized it? For Monsieur Gervais could now clearly see the startling similarity she had to her brother—the same shade of hair, the same wavy locks, the same impression of royalty.

"Please, come this way, mademoiselle," said the landowner, leading her to the back room. "The young men like to keep their conversations private."

"Young men?"

"Yes. Students, young workers. They come here often to talk."

"Talk about what?"

Gervais shrugged. "Politics, news, rumors. Some are gossips, mademoiselle. Men are not so different from women, really."

The girl laughed. "What makes you think all ladies are gossips, Monsieur?"

The old man smiled. "Why do you think we branded them as gossips in the first place? We would not do so without reason, now, would we?"

"Men are not known to be reasonable creatures, are they? I'm sorry. That was blunt, wasn't it? My maman says I should learn to hold my tongue. I am too frank. But I like to point things out. It's just being honest, isn't it? After all, the truth isn't always wonderful to hear."

"You sound very much like your brother, mademoiselle."

She looked at him and smiled, as if pleased by the comment. "Do you think so? Maman says so too. She says we both should listen more and talk less. But I don't think I'm like Etienne at all. He's too serious sometimes. How did you know I was his sister?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd be his wife, mademoiselle!" Monsieur Gervais chuckled.

"Yes. The young girls in my neighborhood always loved to chatter about him, but he never minded them. He may sound grim and awful to you, but he was wonderful, really! He always laughed at me and called me silly names and played with me, even though he's years older. Is he still like that?"

Gervais shook his head, surprised. Had Monsieur Enjolras been like that before? The change was remarkable! "I think you might find him a bit altered, mademoiselle."

They stood now in front of the door. On the opposite side they could hear the low voices of men. Suddenly a sharp ring of laughter vibrated in the room.

"That's Monsieur Grantaire," Gervais explained in a low voice. "But come. There's no need to be afraid. They're only men like me, after all."

Marianne smiled. "But you're not just a man, Monsieur," she said, as he took her hand and led her into the room. When he looked up at her questioningly, she laughed softly and said, "You're a good man. Aren't you?"

Monsieur Gervais only smiled.

They stood inside the little room now. It held a considerable amount of tables, a considerable amount of flying papers, and a considerable amount of men. This was the back room of the Café Musain, and here the Friends of the ABC spent their afternoons.

The considerable amount of men turned and gawked as Monsieur Gervais led the girl across the room to where Enjolras sat, bent over his book. He and he alone had not realized that the usual routine had been disturbed.

Meanwhile the following thoughts ran through Monsieur Gervais's mind: "Poor girl. No young woman deserves to face the stares of six, perhaps even seven men. And all at once too. She must be about to faint."

Being a tender and overprotective father of a girl long gone from home, the old landowner must be excused for thinking that Mademoiselle Marianne was, at that moment, terrified. But when he glanced at her sympathetically, he found that she did not look at all like a girl about to faint.

Her eyes were fixed on the blond young man absorbed in his book.

"Etienne!" she said in a low whisper. She had been walking, unsurely, the entire time. But now unable to contain her excitement, she ran the rest of the way, crying out his name in complete happiness.

Enjolras turned from his book, astonished at having heard his Christian name. Immediately he found a pair of arms thrown around him and a young girl laughing and looking up at him with large, grey eyes.

"Marianne!" The voice that uttered the name was unbelieving and astonished. "Marianne, what are you doing here?"

Her joyful voice rang in his ear. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Why… yes, but—"

"Oh, I've missed you so! We all have, really. Maman talked about you constantly, so it's impossible for me to forget. Have you really gone to stay here forever? You'll never come back?"

Suddenly aware of the gaped stares of the other men, Enjolras cleared his throat. At the sound, the room came swiftly back to life as the students began whispering again.

"Mademoiselle, why don't we talk in private?"

Marianne looked at him quickly, her large eyes pained. "Why do you call me that? I'm still the same, Etienne. I haven't changed, have I? I know I'm a bit older than before, but you shouldn't call me that!"

"You are a lady now, Marianne," said Enjolras in a quiet voice.

"No," came the stubborn reply, "I'm your sister. Or have you forgotten?" She dropped her head and suddenly became silent.

"Marianne?"

She refused to look at him. Oh, he had changed so! How painful it was to see him so grim and formal! Would he ever become the same, normal Etienne that he had been before?

"Marianne, why are you here?"

Seeing her look so forlorn as she stared at the ground, Enjolras felt a wave of pity and even these little stirrings of brotherly love. She was still the same. He could see it clearly—still that odd, blunt little girl with large grey eyes that were angry one moment and then sad the next. Unable to contain himself, he lifted her chin with gentle fingers and looked into her eyes.

She stared solemnly at the wall, refusing to meet his gaze.

"_Tetue_," he said in a low, tender voice, "I am glad to see you. Really I am."

Monsieur Gervais, who still stood awkwardly in front of them, started when he heard Enjolras' voice. Perhaps this was the old 'Etienne' his sister knew. Deciding the moment between brother and sister was too precious, he slipped away and scolded a few of the men who still sat gawking.

Marianne was looking straight in his eye now, and a small smile played on her lips. "You always used to call me that before."

Enjolras smiled slightly. "I haven't forgotten, Marianne. Never. But you must tell me now, _tetue. _Why have you come to Paris?"

**A/N: Okay, I know I just finished my previous story, but I really wanted to post this one chapter already. The idea's been irritating me for so long that I just had to pay attention to it. **_**Tetue**_** means "stubborn", Marianne is the symbol of the French Republic (maybe Enjolras had an overly patriotic father… who knows?), and… well, let me know what you think! :D**


	2. Introductions

Chapter Two

"Why have you come to Paris?"

The question hung in the air, answered by a chilling silence. Even the low murmurs of the young students had ceased. Strangely, Marianne would not provide a direct answer and refused to meet his gaze when he repeated the question.

"Maman said I could stay with you if—"

"That's out of the question." Eyes turned to the brother and sister and withdrew quickly when he cleared his throat. His voice dropped lower, "No, _tetue_. You cannot stay here."

"Why not?" she demanded stubbornly.

"You can't," replied Enjolras, just as obstinate. "I have my work—I don't have time to watch over you."

"What makes you think I need looking after? I'm not a child! And what work?"

"Marianne," said Enjolras sternly.

"I'm not leaving!"

"You must!"

"No!"

"You can't stay. You're not safe here."

"What has this to do with my safety!?"

Realizing that he had given too much information, Enjolras answered, reluctantly, "My work is very important to me. I don't have the time to watch over you. The majority of my time is spent here, in this room. You can stay for a few days and then that's it. Back to mother."

"But—"

"No buts. That's final. You're going home."

"What home?" she cried, her little proud chin falling at last in wretched despair. "What _home_? Where can I go? All that's waiting for me back there is an empty house with empty rooms and hollow… hollow…" Her lips trembled; she closed her eyes, shaking her head in refusal. When she continued, her voice shook uncontrollably, "There's nothing waiting for me there. I don't want to think of it—don't make me think of it!"

She broke down, unable to speak any longer, and her shoulders shook violently; unwilling to let her brother—or the startled, open-mouthed men staring at her, for that matter—see her vulnerability, she let her hair fall down like a curtain over her face.

Enjolras had turned pale; he grabbed her, almost desperately, by the shoulders, whispering tensely, "What are you talking about, Marianne?"

"Maman is dead!" she cried, sobbing into his shoulder.

Her brother went frigid. "What happened?" he said, spacing each words distinctly. His voice was cold.

"She got sick, it was so fast, and… the doctor said it was hopeless… I tried reaching you but you didn't reply… who could I turn to, Etienne? You were away working. I had no one to turn to… She's gone now, Etienne. She's gone."

Enjolras felt as though the world was spinning sickenly around him. Beloved maman, dead? And Marianne… had she really been alone, suffering, isolated with only a slowly decaying corpse to keep her company? He clutched at her, unable to stand.

Her tears had stopped falling. "Etienne, where am I supposed to go?"

Enjolras had always possessed a certain gift of bottling up his emotions. Recovering quickly from his shock, he answered firmly: "Nowhere. You will stay with me. Marianne, I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

"I'm alright," she faltered.

"How long as she been…" He swallowed inaudibly.

"Four months."

Four months! Four months of grieving, alone and uncomforted, while her brother was making plans to begin a rebellion and possibly lead thousands to their deaths! Enjolras shook the thought away from his mind. "_Tetue, _if only I'd known. But you'll stay with me now, and you won't have to be alone."

Marianne nodded, looking up and managing a weak smile. She let out a deep breath and became suddenly, and painfully, aware of the gawking stares. Enjolras' piercing eyes threw darts at all of the young men watching, but his sister payed no attention. She just gave him another more reassuring smile, slipped out of his comforting hold, and ran out the back door…

…And straight into a National Guard!

"Oh! I'm so sorry!"

A startled Marianne looked up to see a pair of surprised brown eyes in the face of a tall, slender young man. She had fallen down the three steps and the world seemed to spin at an alarming rate. "Never mind," said the girl quickly, "I'm fine." She stood up hastily, only to sit back down again. Her head felt terribly heavy.

The young man looked doubtful. "No… I mean, are you sure you're alright? Your head… Oh, I've ruined you, haven't I?" he said, remorseful.

Bending down, he offered his hand to the girl and looking worriedly into her eyes. Wiping away the last remant of tears, she laughed shakily as he pulled her up. "I don't think a little bruise could ruin me," she said, smiling faintly in spite of the throbbing head and dizziness. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"No, you're not!" laughed the young man. "You might want to bandage that little head of yours, though. Come on, let me patch it up for you. I'm no doctor, but my mother's taught me one or two tricks."

"That's fine, really."

"Alright, then," said the other, smiling pleasantly. "Take care!" He turned to enter the Café, and it was his turn to be startled as he found himself face to face with a pair of stern blue eyes.

"Who are you, Monsieur?" said Enjolras coldly.

"My name is Matthieu, Monsieur."

Almost immediately, Enjolras directed his attention to his sister. "Marianne, are you alright? What happened?" He stepped between the two, as if to protect her from the National Guard. To the young man, he threw an icy glare. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," said Marianne earnestly, "It was an accident, Etienne. He offered to help me—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Enjolras, "Let's get you fixed, shall we?" Throwing the National Guard another suspicious stare, he took Marianne by the hand and walked quickly up the steps.

"Good day, Monsieur Matthieu," said the girl breathlessly, as her brother pulled her into the Café. She gave him a rueful smile before disappearing.

"Good day," he called after her, "Marianne…" And then, as if he had forgotten his errand, he turned from the Café and walked aimlessly around the streets of Paris.

…

"Joly, this is my sister, Marianne. Would you mind taking a look at that bruise? I'm going to get some drinks."

"A pleasure, Monsieur!" Joly smiled cheerfully, pulling on a pair of round spectacles and examining Marianne's poor head. She sat on a one of the tables, sitting still as the young medical student bandaged her head with excessive caution.

A little child who was watching Marianne with curious, large eyes stood up from his comfortable perch on a bench and walked over to her.

"Joly's fancy specs are useless, you know," he whispered to the girl.

Marianne looked amused. "Really now? What are they for then?"

"He says they do help him see, but I don't believe him," was the solemn reply. "It's vanity, I say. Harmless, really, but vanity all the same. He thinks they make him look like one of those know-it-all fellars—what do you call 'em?"

"Intellectuals?"

"That's it. Courfeyrac told me."

"Is that so? Who's Courfeyrac?"

The child pointed him out.

"He's looking at us now! He looks very grave. Is he always like that?"

"No," said the urchin carelessly, "He's happy most days. He's just curious about who you are. I should be going now. The other boys want to know what your name is." He looked at her expectantly, his little hands in his pockets.

"Marianne."

The boy frowned. "It might be a bit hard for the little 'uns to announce,"—he meant 'pronounce'—"Can I call you Marie?"

Marianne nodded.

"If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes? Courfeyrac told me that no woman would every say yes, but you would, wouldn't you?"

She laughed. "My brother might say no, but I would. We'd have to run away together though."

The boy frowned thoughtfully. "At nighttime too," he said gravely. "Enjolras is a fighter. He might pull a gun on me when we have our backs turned. Alright, Marie! You're my lady now." His errand finished, the child turned to leave.

"Wait! You haven't told me the name of my knight."

His chest puffed up an inch. "Gavroche. Goodbye now!" Off he went, whistling, to tell the 'other boys' the name of his fair lady.

"I see you've met Gavroche," said Enjolras, holding two glasses of water.

"Aww, you didn't get any bottles, Enjolras!" slurred a young man in the corner. He sprang up suddenly and stumbled across the room. "You forgot, didn't you? Every single one of you forgits me!" He seemed to sense the presence of a lady. "What are you?"

"I'm Etienne's sister, Monsieur."

"Oh there's no need for formals," said the man, grinning. "I'm Grantaire. So how do you know Enjolras, eh? Didn't know the sneaky fellow knew any pretty girls like yourself!"

Marianne flushed a deep red. "Haven't I told you, Monsieur Grantaire? He's my brother."

"Wa-eh? So the statue's got a sister! Well, you do look rather alike. Twins?" He didn't wait for a reply. "But still, it's odd to know he has a link to the female world, even in that sense. What's the name's mademoiselle, again?" he asked, jumbling up his words.

"I never told you my name, Monsieur. It's Marianne. And I'm going to tell you what's on my mind because I think you deserve it for being so forward. Maman would probably tell me not to—rude and all that—but thinking about it carefully, I realized you won't even remember it by morning since your senses are hardly at their keenest."

Grantaire's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "War'd you thay?"

"I _said_ that I'm going to tell you what I think. I think you're a sad little fellow and I wish you wouldn't drink so. And I'm sure you'd be such a nice young man if someone would just teach you how to brush your hair and keep your chin clean and wash your hands. And if you would just stop drinking, you would be so agreeable, I'm sure! What makes you drink so? Maman told me there's always a bad side to a person, but there's also some good, even if only a little! She told me that before I go on judging that bad part, I should look at my own. I've got lots of bad parts, you know, but I try my best to fix them. And I'm sure if you tried, you could too!

"Oh, but there's nothing bad about not washing your hands and not shaving your beard. I'm just saying it would be the better for you. But oh do stop drinking!"

It had sounded very much like a plea, an earnest plea of a child. Marianne had stopped, breathless, and the drunkard was staring at her with bulging eyes. The room was silent.

Finally Grantaire shuffled his feet. "Erm, pleasure meeting yar sister, Enjolras. Pleasure, I'm sure," he murmured, turning to go back to his corner.

"Wait!" said Marianne. He turned. "You aren't angry with me, are you? Please don't be upset."

"Ah, no, of course not," the drunkard stammered, "Not at all. Not at all."

Enjolras cleared his throat and the room came to life once more. "Marianne, let's go. I'll show you my place. Courfeyrac, Joly." He nodded to them and walked to the back door. "I'll be back. Come, Marianne."

Just before he exited, he stole a glance at one of the corners of the room. What he saw made him smile slightly. Grantaire was wiping his hands quietly on the folds of his coat.

**Thank you for the reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :D**


	3. Meeting A Jondrette

Chapter Three

"Now, you stay here and don't… don't move."

Marianne sat down obediently, her large grey eyes filled with amusement. "Shouldn't you leash me, Monsieur? I may run away."

Enjolras' face twisted into a scowl. "I might just do that. No leaving this building. I'd forgotten how much you get on my nerves, _tetue._"

She laughed. "I do, don't I?" she replied, pleased. "It only goes to show how much power I have over you."

"What _do_ you mean, Marianne?" asked Enjolras irritably.

"I'm sure those other fellows at the Café wouldn't dare provoke you. For fear of an outburst, maybe? But here I am, unharmed and perfectly merry, after just aggravating your poor nerves. Something stops you, perhaps? Why is that? Why, it's because of my great power over you! What do you think of my theory?"

"Perfectly sound," sighed Enjolras. "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"Well, I've been on my own for more than a month. I think I'll survive." She laughed lightly. "Adieu, Etienne."

"Remember, no leaving this building!" was the stern command she got in return.

When the door closed, Marianne was left to her own devices. She began her first hour skipping curiously around the little apartment. The cupboards being all empty, she assumed that Enjolras frequently ate out. That would have to change, certainly! She entered Etienne's room prepared for the worst. The untidy bed and papers scattered on the little side table and floor produced a grave frown on the girl's face.

"Oh dear," she sighed, shaking her head.

By the time the first two hours had passed, the little apartment was sparkling and polished.

_What to do now? _ Then recalling that her brother had not forbidden stepping out of the a_partment—_she distinctly remembered the words, "No leaving this _building_!"—the mischevious girl grinned and put one foot on the solid ground outside the door.

Nothing happened.

Stepping slowly outside of the apartment, Marianne looked round cautiously. There was no sign of a tall, slim figure with a blond head. No sign of _him_.

Feeling all the more gleeful and very much like an undercover spy, Enjolras' sister wandered about the hall, looking and blinking and looking. Suddenly she heard something. Was it—yes! Footsteps coming her way! Each step made her heart drop lower.

She turned, miserable, and poured forth the apology she had made mentally in a split-second:

"I know you said not to leave the building but you said nothing about leaving the apartment so I thought there would be no harm in wandering around the hall—and I know you'd say that there _are _possibilites of my going missing or getting robbed, but I can take care of myself! I can! I've proved myself those months on my own, so you don't have to be such a smothering hen about it! So there!"

Of course, Marianne was aware of how pathetic her excuse was, and she prepared herself for the consequences… until she realized that the person standing in front of her was not a tall, slender young man but a tall, slender young woman!

"Oh! I'm sorry… I didn't… Excuse me."

The girl laughed, but not out of amusement. "You're excused then," she replied, "I'm guessing your father is worse than mine."

"No…" said Marianne slowly, looking at the her curiously. Unfortunately the dark hall produced shadows on the girl's face, preventing any possibility of examining her features. "My brother… do you live here?"

"I come and go."

"What do you mean by that, please?"

"Most of us don't have a home, really. We sit down wherever we find ourselves and fall asleep, and then when our fingers get stiff we stand up and walk again."

"Don't you have a home?"

The girl laughed again, this time with a tinge of bitterness. "Home? Home! If a home is a place where a mother starves with her daughter and a father beats them whenever the slightest itch bothers his knuckles, then I suppose I've got a home. I've gotten kicked out now and then, but you probably don't know what that's like."

She didn't bother to disguise the resent in those last words.

Marianne was looking at her thoughtfully. "Well… I haven't gotten kicked out before, but I do know what it's like to be all alone."

"Do you now?" replied the girl indifferently.

"Yes. But now I don't have to be alone. I came from the country just this morning and now I can live with my brother. Do you have a brother?"

"Yes—no."

"Yes? No? What's that mean?"

"I have a brother, yes. But he don't live with us, and I haven't seen him in a while. So he's probably dead, meaning no, I don't have a brother. I best be going, _mademoiselle._"

"Oh, don't call me that," said Marianne hurriedly. "My name's Marianne. What's yours?"

"Eponine," replied the girl grudgingly.

"What a pretty name! Isn't it from a book? My brother says that names can tell a lot about a person. But I don't believe him. After all, my name's the symbol of France, but I'm not patriotic at all. Or, at least, I don't have a very good grasp on politics. Do you? My brother says women ought to stay away from politics—he believes we're silly. But I think _he's_ silly!"

"You mention him often. Your brother. Do you look up to him so?"

"Yes, he's wonderful, even though he's a bit silly sometimes. You can't help but like him! His name's Etienne. Have you heard of him?"

The girl, Eponine, shook her head. "No, but if he believes women can't handle politics, then I agree with you about his being silly. Sounds like a real arrogant dandy, to me. Well, like I said, mademoiselle Marianne, I best be going."

"Oh! I've been holding you up, haven't I?" said Marianne apologetically. "Goodbye then! It was nice meeting you! Won't you shake hands with me?"

"Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Etienne says that's what they do in America. When a man meets someone for the first time, they shake hands."

The girl drew near, with some reluctance, to 'shake hands', and for the first time Marianne could see her features clearly. She was a tall girl, slender with long limbs, and as she drew near, her feet hardly made a sound. She was clothed in a tattered chemise and skirt, a striking contrast to Marianne's fine clothes. And her eyes were a beautiful brown color, as Marianne noted aloud,

"You've got pretty eyes, 'Ponine!"

The other girl started. "What'd you say?"

"I said you've got pretty eyes."

"No, the name."

"Oh, I think it's a nice shortcut. I love your first name, but I think 'Ponine fits your character better."

Eponine couldn't hold back a smile—a rare smile that only few could draw out of the bold, quiet girl. "What have you made out of my character so far?" she said, amused.

Marianne looked thoughtful once more, an expression she wore often. "Well… I think you're a nice girl. And I think Eponine is too romantic for you. I think you're a straight-forward person, aren't you? I like blunt people. But Etienne says I'm too straight-forward myself. But better blunt than sharp, don't you think?"

Eponine's genuine, amused smile appeared once more. "You changed the meaning of blunt, Marianne," she said, almost chiding her like she did often to her sister, Azelma.

Marianne laughed. "Well, goodbye then, 'Ponine!" she said, shaking her hand merrily. "We'll meet again, won't we?"

"Yes," said the other thoughtfully, "We'll meet again."

**Thanks for the reviews! Sorry if you're getting bored. These are simply introductions. Hope you enjoyed! Leave me some thoughts in the form of nice, perty reviews! :D **


	4. Two Worlds, One Paris

Chapter Four

"What did you _do_ to my ROOM!?"

Enjolras stormed into the little kitchen, eyes aflame and chest heaving. "Marianne, what did you do to my room? My papers are… are—"

"—all stacked neatly in a pile on your desk," interrupted Marianne calmly, watching as his eyes widened with disbelief. "Oh, no need to thank me. I've tidied your room for you."

"Tidied?!" sputtered Enjolras, "I can't find _anything_! Everything was in its proper place when I left you and now it's _chaos_ in there!"

"I do hope you don't start breathing fire," replied his sister coolly, lifting a cup of tea to her lips without the least sign of agitation. "I just finished dusting and a fire is the last thing I'd want—actually, thinking about it, a fire wouldn't be that bad really, since it would mean leaving us homeless on the streets, which would further mean forcing you to spend more time with your dear, dear little sister."

Enjolras sighed. "Marianne, I've already warned you about this. You know I'm busy and as much as I want to spend time with my dear, dear, little sister—as you put it—I've got to concentrate on my work!"

"Maybe I could help you," began Marianne.

"Absolutely out of the question!"

Marianne let out a frustrated groan: "Than what do you expect me to do?! You can hardly blame me for cleaning your room—which, you cannot deny, was an absolute mess before I came—when I'm left here all alone with nothing to do!"

"You're staying here," said Enjolras firmly. "Marianne, I cannot let you get hurt. Out there,"—he pointed out the window—"That's a dangerous world, _tetue. _Paris is not like our home back in the country. I will not risk it."

"You're worse than Papa was," grumbled Marianne.

Enjolras' features softened as he looked at the young girl sitting with her arms folded and her chin lifted to an arrogant point. He laughed softly, a sound that Marianne had not heard for a long time. "So stubborn," he chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

Almost immediately, his strange sister ceased her pouting, looked up at him, and rewarded him with a big, bright smile. "It runs in the family, Monsieur. You, of all people, should know that."

Enjolras laughed and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Stay safe, _tetue._" With that, he was gone.

The moment the door closed, Marianne rushed to the window and watched as the tall, blond man disappeared from view. Then without a moment's hesitation, she called out,

"'Ponine! 'Ponine, he's gone!"

Something creaked and out of one of the little kitchen cupboards came Eponine herself! "Finally!" she declared, "My limbs were starting to cramp!"

Marianne laughed. "Did you see him? Did you recognize him?"

"Who, your brother? No. I couldn't catch a glimpse of his face. His back was facing me when I peeked through the cupboard."

"Well, come on! He's gone now so we can go! You said you'd show me around Paris!"

"That I did," replied Eponine grudgingly, "But are you sure it's alright with your brother?"

"He didn't tell me I couldn't go outside _this_ time! He just said, 'Stay safe.' And if I'm with you, I'll be safe, won't I? After all, you know your way around here. You said so yourself, remember? So let's get going!" She pulled at Eponine's arm like a child.

Eponine looked amused. "Why are you so excited? Come on then!"

"Where are we going?" asked Marianne as they strolled out of the tenement. "Are we going to see the Seine? Are there really English speaking people here? How far is it to the—"

"One question at a time, 'Zelma!" laughed Eponine.

"Zelma? Who's Zelma?"

Eponine started. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just forgot… Azelma. She's my younger sister. It's just that you remind me so much of her."

"Where is she?"

"At my father's house. I never get to see her often." She fell into sudden silence, her thoughts drifting away.

"'Ponine?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you sad?"

"What makes you think I'm sad?"

Marianne shrugged, not caring to answer. "Do you know why I like you, 'Ponine?"

"Why's that?"

"A lot of people thought I was the odd ball of the family. Maman and Papa were elegant and fine and… they played their parts perfectly. And Etienne too. He was just as elegant, just as polite. He's a gentleman like Papa was. But I'm not the lady I'm supposed to be. I like asking questions, and I do try to hold my tongue but usually I just end up hurting people. But when I talk to you, you don't look at me like I'm an odd one."

Eponine smiled wryly. "Perhaps that's because my family's an odd one too."

"Your entire family?"

"We don't fit in with this rich Paris. There are two sides to Paris, Marie. One side is lovely and bright and heavenly—it's filled with the people who can get on without having to lift a finger. But that's just one side to it. My family don't belong to that part. We belong to the other side, the dark, miserable side. It seems to me that your family belongs to the heavenly side."

"Where do I fit in?"

Eponine laughed. "It depends."

As they walked around the streets, the two girls did not realize that a pair of curious eyes had been following them. That pair of curious eyes soon made itself known:

"Marianne!"

Instinctively Marianne suppressed a groan. She turned, expecting to see two very blue, very angry eyes. But to her surprise, the eyes were brown.

"Monsieur Matthieu! Oh, how are you?"

The young man laughed delightedly, "Very fine! Very fine! How's the head coming along?"

"All healed, Monsieur."

"Please, there's no need for formality. We're friends, aren't we?"

"I suppose so," said Marianne slowly.

"I see you have a friend with you."

Marianne started, suddenly remembering Eponine. "Oh yes! Eponine, this is my…" she hesitated, before saying confidently, "My friend, Monsieur Matthieu. We met on the stairs of the Café Musain."

"I'm still sorry for that," said the young man, smiling regretfully.

"Matthieu, this is my friend Eponine. But you can call her 'Ponine, for short. Right, 'Ponine?" But the other girl was squirming uncomfortably. "Eponine? What's the matter?"

Eponine did not seem to hear. She stood frozen in front of the young man. The young National Guard… Suddenly she felt unsafe, as if the very ground on which she stood was perilous because of the pair of glossy black boots that stood only a foot away.

"Eponine, what's the matter?" cried Marianne, shaking her arm.

"What? Oh! Pleasure, Monsieur," said Eponine in a low voice. "Marianne, I really must be going."

"Why? What's wrong? Can't I help you with anything?"

"No, thank you Marie," replied Eponine, keeping a wary gaze on the National Guard who was smiling pleasantly down at her. "I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll take you on a full walk next time!" She pressed Marianne's hand assuringly and then hurried away.

The two people left behind watched her go reluctantly.

"I do hope I wasn't the cause of her leaving," began Matthieu.

"I can't say why. She isn't normally like that. She seemed rather… what's the word?"

"Fidgety?" offered the young man.

"Yes! Fidgety! That's right. But I don't think you could be the cause, Monsieur."

Matthieu smiled. "Thank you. I don't know what I've done to deserve your trust, mademoiselle."

"I've got two replies for that."

"Well, I'd like to hear them."

"The first is, why wouldn't I trust you? You're not going to rob me—you're a brave Guard of Paris, aren't you?"

Matthieu laughed. "I don't think I could be called such a nice title as that, but yes, I'm a National Guard."

"You protect the people. I'm one of the people. So why shouldn't I trust you? The second is, I thought you said there was no need for formalities. Why do you call me mademoiselle? After all, I don't like being called that. It feels too 'lady-like'."

"And I suppose you aren't a lady?" replied Matthieu, smiling.

The girl shook her head ardently, joining him when the young National Guard began to laugh. "I've got to go," said Matthieu wistfully. "I'm on patrol unfortunately. Can I see you again?"

"Of course, Mons—Matthieu! I only live a block away. You should meet my brother. I'm sure if he got to know you, he'd like you. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye then!"

"Is he gone?"

Marianne started. "Why, 'Ponine, where did you come from?"

Eponine laughed slyly. "Did I scare you?"

"No," was the stubborn reply that made the other girl laugh even harder. "But why did you go away? Surely it wasn't Monsieur Matthieu!"

"Marianne, I'm sure Monsieur Matthieu is a good man."

"Oh he is!" said Marianne earnestly.

"But he belongs to the other side of Paris, Marianne. His sort of people don't like our sort."

"Oh," answered Marianne thoughtfully.

"Have I upset you, Marie?" began Eponine anxiously.

"No. I just wish there was only one side of Paris—I wish there was just Paris."

Eponine sighed. "I wish that too."

"We should be getting back," said Marianne suddenly, "Etienne wouldn't like this at all!"

Suddenly a hard, deep voice behind them growled, "No. He wouldn't like this at all."

And this time, the eyes were very blue… and very angry.

**Ta-da! Hope you enjoyed! I believe there will be some E/E in the next chapter… :D**


	5. To Narcissus, With Love

**Thanks for the reviews! Oh, **_**preciousat, **_**sorry I couldn't update sooner. Had a pretty busy weekend and school! Erg. And to the **_**AaronTveitadik guest, **_**well… I'm going to have to think about that. No, Marianne's not based on Amanda Seyfried, but I don't mind. We all have our own imaginations. If any of you have read **_**Farenheit 451, **_**I believe Marianne's partly based on the character Clarisse. Anyhoo, thanks again very very much to all of you and I hope you enjoy! :D **____

Chapter Five

"And what do you think you're doing?" Enjolras stood with his arms crossed, his tall figure casting a shadow over the two girls.

"I'm showing her Paris, Monsieur," replied Eponine defiantly, easily finding the words that poor Marianne was still struggling to find. "And who are you to tell us what to do?"

"I'm her brother, mademoiselle! I'm sure my word is greater than your own!"

"She hasn't disobeyed you."

"I told her to stay safe!"

"I am offended, Monsieur! Do you think I am not capable of keeping her out of harm's way? What do you take me for? I'm sure I can find my way around here better than you!"

Enjolras began to retort something, but she continued:

"And why don't you let her go out anyway? If you think she can't be safe, why don't you go with her yourself?"

"I have work, mademoiselle, unlike _some_ people!"

"Then you would let her go out if she was safe, and I am here for that purpose! I will keep her safe, since you cannot!

"And don't talk to me about work, Monsieur," she continued, her eyes flashing, "I know who you are. You're the mighty Enjolras, who toils all day in a little room, carrying the heavy weight of a pen and facing the unbearable praise of a thousand young men!

"But I've carried the heavy weight of manacles on my hands and legs, and I've faced the unbearable scorn of a thousand young men and women! I've had a load on my back ever since I was a child, and I've had to labor all day just to get a scrap of bread for all three of my meals, so don't you dare talk to me about work!"

Enjolras hesitated, unsure of what to make of the lecture he had just received. "Forgive me," he managed, "Where are my manners?"

"Yes. Where are they?" she retorted.

"You just… Consider what this looks like in my point of view. I've left my sister alone in my apartment, telling her to stay safe. How was I supposed to know she had a friend with her? Then I spent hours at the Café Musain worrying over her and being unable to focus on my work. When I go outside for a walk to stretch myself out, I see my very sister strolling outside, unaccompanied, unsafe, and talking to a complete stranger! Again, how was I supposed to know that you were a friend and not some girl who might be a—" Enjolras stopped short, regretful of his words.

"A thief," said Eponine, pain in her voice, "You thought I was a thief."

"How was I to know?"

"Perhaps you would have known better if you had stayed quiet long enough to hear an explanation rather than work yourself into a temper and jump to conclusions, Monsieur!" replied Eponine angrily.

"No more! No more!" cried Marianne, finding her voice at last. "Look at the two of you! My brother and the girl I consider my sister fighting each other!

"Look, Etienne, it isn't Eponine's fault. I asked her to bring me around Paris, and I didn't think you'd work yourself into such a temper if we were caught. I like Eponine, so don't talk to her like that. While you've been off working, she's found time to keep me company, even though she has just as much work as you! And harder too! Besides, from what I've learned, isn't she the one you're working for? So if you get angry at her then I shan't talk to you ever again! Well?"

Enjolras gaped. Never, in how many months, had he been spoken to in such a manner! And by two ladies! Eponine was looking him quietly in the eye, and Marianne stood waiting impatiently for his answer.

He sighed. "Very well, _tetue. _What do you want of me?"

"Be nice to Eponine and apologize to her."

Enjolras turned to Eponine, his forehead red, either from embarrasment or overwhelming arrogance. "Mademoiselle, forgive me… I—I have been too harsh."

Eponine held back a smirk. "I suppose I must forgive you," she sighed, "for Marianne's sake. Let's shake hands then, shall we? Your sister's told me all about the American customs you've studied. It's Etienne this and Etienne that with her!"

Enjolras accepted the offered hand, flushing slightly, "How much has she given away about me?"

"Oh, you are vain, Monsieur!" said Eponine, laughter escaping from her lips. "But I can't say I'm surprised. Describing you, she's painted me a perfect picture of Narcissus with a blond head and blue eyes."

"Excuse me for saying so, mademoiselle," replied Enjolras, "but Narcissus had a very fine face, didn't he? I believe some likened him to a Greek god. So… I suppose you still insist that I am a perfect Narcissus in the making?"

At this Eponine turned red and Marianne stifled a laugh. "Come! Come!" said Marianne cheerfully, "Let's all be friends, shall we?"

"Lets," replied Enjolras, smiling slightly. "How about I take you both to the Café Musain? At least then I can work whilst I obey every petty command I receive from my two fair ladies."

He sighed wearily, raking his hand through his soft curls, but Marianne laughed with delight and began to chatter tirelessly, taking her brother's arm in one hand and Eponine's in the other.

"Oh look at the elephant!" she cried, releasing her hold on the two and hurrying to the large statue. As she did so, Enjolras' hand slipped and touched Eponine's. He drew back, startled, and his cheeks reddened. Eponine, too, started back, and when Marianne called out to them, they turned their attention to her with much gladness and relief.

"She's such a child, isn't she?" sighed Enjolras, looking at his sister as she laughed and clapped her hands.

Eponine smiled, "Yes, but that's what makes her wonderful. She isn't always like that though. When I first met her, she was so grave and thoughtful."

"Yes," agreed the other, "She changes fast. Mademoiselle—may I call you Eponine?"

"Please do. I'm no lady."

"Eponine, I must thank you. I'm not the stern, domineering brother you take me for. I noticed that Marianne was becoming more silent and more thoughtful, but recently, she sings a great deal more and laughs for the rest. Now I'm sure it's because she's met you. Thank you for that."

"My pleasure, Monsieur."

Suddenly Marianne gave a cry of delight, "Gavroche! Why, what are you doing here, my little man?"

"'Moiselle Marie! Well, I live 'ere, my lady." He looked at her rather worriedly, "You do like it, don't you?"

Marianne laughed. "Of course I do!"'

"And you wouldn't mind living 'ere with me when we're married?"

"I wouldn't mind at all. I'd be perfectly happy! But hush now! Here comes my brother, and _he_ wouldn't be happy at all!"

Immediately the child's face darkened as he looked his opponent up and down, taking in the handsome, stern face and blue eyes.

"How do you do, little man?" said Enjolras.

"I know you," replied Gavroche, rather severely, "You're a friend of Courfeyrac's, an't you?"

"Why, yes I am. Ah, your name is Gavroche, isn't it? The little symbol of our revolution?"

"Yes," said the boy grudgingly. "Eponine! What are you doing 'ere?"

"'Ponine, is this your little brother?" asked Marianne.

Eponine looked just as surprised, "Yes… How did you meet Gavroche?"

Marianne laughed. "Why, we're engaged. Didn't you know?" At the words, little Gavroche's chest puffed up like a peacock.

"Engaged?" began Eponine incredously.

"That's right, 'Ponine," said the child, "To be married, that means!"

"What? Who's engaged?" interrupted Enjolras sharply.

Gavroche threw him a look full of darts. "None of yo' business, Monsieur," he replied curtly.

Marianne whispered something to Eponine, producing a burst of merry laughter. Eponine bent down to her little brother, murmuring, "I think, little boy, that if you want your beloved's brother to grant his permission to your marriage, you might want to get into his good graces first."

At this the child hesitated, before deciding to accept this piece of useful information. Afterwards, he took care to always speak politely to Monsieur Enjolras, or, according to the title he used when he spoke to his 'babies', his future 'brother-in-law'.

"Well? Are you coming?" called Enjolras, already a few steps from the Café Musain. The two girls and Gavroche hurried to his side; the door opened; Monsieur Gervais saluted them; and shouts of welcome and surprise greeted them as the party stepped inside.

**Hmmm, I love using Marianne as a 'bridge' for E/E. Anyway, prepare to meet the Friends in the next chapter! Who else is enjoying Marianne/Gavroche? :D**


	6. The Flag Strikes the Bludgeon

**I'm back at last! So sorry for the wait, and a short chapter to boot! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. I hope to write a longer one next! **

Chapter Six

"Enjolras! You know, short walks are called short for a reason," greeted a young man with curly brown hair as they entered.

"Ah, Courfeyrac, allow me to introduce my sister, Marianne. Marianne, this is Courfeyrac, a fellow student and—"

"—the handsomest of the Friends," cut in Courfeyrac, smiling, "Pleasure, mademoiselle!"

Marianne returned the smile. "So you're the famous Courfeyrac! Gavroche has told me so much about you."

"All good, I hope!"

"All bad I'm sure!" laughed another young man, standing up to welcome the newcomers. He looked very familiar to Marianne. "I'm not sure he's the handsomest of us, but you can be certain he's the most dangerous! The very words that come out of his mouth drip with lethal honey. We've already met, mademoiselle. If you don't remember, my name is Joly, and I—"

"Patched me up when I got a bruise on my head," interrupted Marianne, smiling.  
"Yes, how can I forget such a charming doctor?"

"Well, student, mademoiselle. Just a student."

After this a string of men with curious eyes stood up and hurried to make themselves known to Marianne: Combeferre, formal yet warm; Bahorel, pleasant; Jean Prouvaire, blushing and sweet; Lesgle, merry—by the time they were through, poor Marianne's cheeks were beginning to ache from smiling and her brain was straining to remember all the names.

At last when the room had calmed down, the drunkard Grantaire stepped forward quietly. "Mademoiselle," he said.

"Monsieur Grantaire! How well you look!" said Marianne delightedly, "You look much better than I last saw you!"

The young man smiled faintly, as if pleased.

"I believe," said Enjolras, "that my little sister here has a sort of power over you, Grantaire. I tell you to put the bottle down and you forget, but my sister gives you one of her lectures and you remember!"

"Not frequent lectures, I hope?" replied Grantaire.

Marianne laughed. "No, I give them most to those who need it most."

"I suppose that means Enjolras gets a bunch!" laughed Eponine, who had been standing quietly by Marianne's side, looking round the room for a familiar face.

Enjolras only let out a stubborn, "Humph!", and he would have said more. But the back door suddenly swung open, boots clumped on the wooden floor, and a young National Guard strode into the room.

Marianne recognized him immedietaly, "Monsieur Matthieu! It's you again!"

The young man smiled pleasantly. "Mademoiselle Marie! Well, I do suppose fate has a mind of its own. As it is, my patrol is over."

"Won't you join us?"

But Enjolras had once again pushed himself between them, his face darkening like a storm. "Monsieur," he said coldly, "I don't believe you are welcome here." As he said the words, he tried to ignore the pained expression on his sister's face.

The young man looked surprised. "I hope I haven't done anything to offend you, Monsieur."

"You haven't," replied Enjolras icily, "So why don't you get out before you do?"

"Etienne!" cried Marianne reproachfully, "How could you say that? And before you've even met him! I know this man. He's my friend!"

"Silence, Marianne," said her brother sternly, knowing full well that if he let his sister go on, she would somehow persuade him with her stubborn will, "He is not welcome here." Then turning quickly back to the stranger he continued mockingly, "What are your orders now, Monsieur? Are you still patrolling, still doing some espionage for your captain? If you had been off duty, you would've taken off your bonnet and bludgeon. But your uniform speaks for you."

Matthieu listened quietly, patiently—it was not rare for the young man to be branded as unwelcome in this part of the city, in this 'other world', as Eponine had put it. Now he looked from Marianne to her brother, saying coolly, "It's not a bonnet, Monsieur, but I'm sure you did not mean badly. I walk around Paris feared and avoided. I know too well what feelings this uniform provokes, and it pains me to know that even here among fine young men like myself I am still not welcome."

"Of course not Monsieur!" interrupted Combeferre, smiling warmly and walking across the room to where the National Guard stood head on with the revolutionary. "We would love to have your company!"

Enjolras stared at Combeferre in surprise. "Combeferre!" he began contemptiously, "What do you think you're doing!" His voice dropped low, "This man is an enemy! He might be a spy! He'll know our plans! Do you really want to ruin this for us!?"

"Of course not," replied Combeferre evenly, "But your rallies haven't been all that quiet anyway, Enjolras. Think about this for a moment. Befriending a National Guard might be _good_ for our cause, not bad! Earning the trust of the police has benefits!"

Enjolras hesitated. "Very well, Monsieur," he conceded coldly.

But when Marianne tried to sit and talk with the newcomer, Enjolras would interrupt. If he could not drive this enemy away, he would find satisfaction in seeing that his sister had nothing to do with him!

**Well, Matthieu will earn the respect he deserves in time. And I love the protective Enjolras. I hope I'm not the only one! Coming up next: something happens concerning good ol' Eponine, Marianne, and of course, Enjolras! **


	7. The Rose Strikes the Emblem

**Next chappie! Thank you for the reviews and all! Much, much appreciated! Here's the next one, with a nice touch of drama and a sprinkle of E/E this time! Just a sprinkle though… Hope you enjoy! :D**

Chapter Seven

"Etienne, have you seen Eponine lately?"

"Yes, do whatever you like, _tetue,_" replied Enjolras absently. Hunched at his desk with a frightfully large pile of books and papers sitting in front of him, the young man had not heard a word of Marianne's question. "You haven't been to the Café Musain for a while," he continued, "Go and talk with Eponine and… well, do whatever you two do."

Marianne let out a frustrated sigh and gave her busy brother a reproving look: "You didn't even hear what I said."

"Hmm?"

"Etienne!"

Enjolras turned, startled.

"Eponine's not at the Café Musain!"

"What? Why not?"

"Do you know, you're as blind as Monsieur Marius sometimes. No, you're worse! Because at least Monsieur Marius loves his what's-Her-name and loves her so much that he doesn't see anyone else. But you—you always say you're fighting for the people and you love the people and you're working for the people. But how can you say that when you don't even notice that Eponine's missing!"

Enjolras frowned at her. "I don't understand, Marianne."

"Don't you? 'Ponine told me that there are two worlds in Paris: the one that we live in and the one that she lives in. And she says that you—yes, you—fight for her world. She talked to me about you. She said she was happy because she knew that you were fighting for Her people. For her. But _you_ have no idea what Eponine's life is like! You don't see that sometimes when we meet, she's got bruises and scratches all over! You don't know that what's left of her family is a neglectful mother, a vicious father, a starving sister, and… and… and a brother who doesn't even have a home!"

"I do see that, Marianne," said Enjolras abruptly, and for a split-second his eyes flashed. "Don't think that I'm like that love-sick puppy! I do know how hard Eponine's life is! This work—this labor that's been keeping me from my loved ones, keeping me from you—is for her and for all her people! Do you think I don't see how she starts whenever a man—whenever I—offer my hand to her? Do you think I don't notice the finger marks so often pressed upon her poor neck? And little Gavroche! How can you say I don't see that he has no home when I've watched him grow from a little toddler to a young boy, when I've seen him learn to find a home in the Café Musain? I do know all about Eponine's misery, the misery of her world. And that's what's been keeping my mind occupied, working working working day in and day out!"

"Then why haven't you noticed that she's been missing?" demanded Marianne.

"I have noticed!" Enjolras' forehead and cheeks burned. "I… I was hoping that you would go to the Café Musain and check if she's there."

Marianne's previous resentment died down like the weather of Asian countries and she bit her lip, trying with all her might not to betray any signs of delight or contentment. "Will you help me look for her then? Surely this is part of your work."

Enjolras sighed and, without hesitating, stood up and took his sister's hand. "I'm sorry I can't spend more time with you, _tetue,_" he said, smiling fondly at her, "And I will help you. I've been wondering where that girl's gotten off to for quite a while, actually."

Marianne laughed, her worry for Eponine vanishing as complete confidence in her wise, older brother took its place. "You actually miss her sharp, unbearable wit? If only you knew what she says behind your back."

Enjolras frowned. "Do you two talk of me often?"

His sister laughed again. "Come on, Monsieur! Let's go and find her!"

"You avoided the question, Marianne!" reproved Enjolras, but she was already pulling him away.

…

They found her in a narrow alleyway.

Crouched in the dark like an immobile stone with shadows hovering over her bent head, she paid no attention to the young man and his sister.

"Eponine!" cried Marianne, rushing forward and then halting suddenly to a stop when the face looked up.

Marianne had never seen such a thing in her life.

The pale, bloody face with bruises and cuts under the eyes and upon a pastel cheek; the large hollow eyes that stared at her sullenly; the ragged clothing; the dirty, bleeding feet. Not even Marianne's mother, at the point of her death, had looked like this. But worst of all was the pain—the pain in those hollow eyes, the pain in the bitter curve of her mouth, and the pain in her low, broken voice when she said:

"So it's you."

Marianne looked at her in earnest compassion and longed to go to her and comfort her and take care of her. But Enjolras stood at her side, holding her arm in a firm grasp as if unwilling to let his sister close to this girl who looked desperate enough to do anything.

"Yes, it's me," said Marianne, moving forward.

"Have you been wondering where I was? I wondered. I wondered why you wouldn't come and visit me. I thought, perhaps they've forgotten me. Everybody seems to have forgotten me. Poor Eponine, all alone and forgotten. Monsieur Marius,"—her voice was terribly bitter—"He's forgotten me. I saved him, you know. I saved him and that… that girl…" she paused to laugh, her eyes bright and feverish, "But he forgot all about me and left me to the mercy of my papa. Ha! My papa! Well! _He_ didn't forget me, did he?"

Any man would have shuddered, hearing such bitter words and imagining what might have happened with the poor girl and her papa. But Marianne could feel the tight grasp of her brother's hand tighten even more, could feel the trembling of the cold hand. When she looked at him, she saw an Etienne with clenched jaw, sparking eye, and the free hand twitching curiously.

"Don't think of him, 'Ponine!" pleaded Marianne, "Don't think of that Marius. I haven't forgotten you! Etienne hasn't forgotten you! Please, let me help you! Don't think of that Marius. He isn't worthy of you!"

Eponine turned to look at her and stood up so suddenly, so violently, that Enjolras almost pulled Marianne behind him.

"You!" said Eponine harshly, "Look at you! Mademoiselle Marianne, so fine and pretty! Don't you say that of Marius! Don't you say that! You know nothing of me, or him! I can only imagine why you'd want to be friends with me. Got nothing better to do, have you? Mademoiselle Marianne, so fine and pretty! You have no idea what it's like to be alone!"

"Eponine!" cried Enjolras resentfully. But the girl kept on:

"What it's like to be on your own, no one to comfort you, no one to say 'I love you'. No, you've got a father who loves you. You've got a mother who just smothers you up, don't she? And—"

"—Eponine, that's enough!" raged Enjolras angrily, wrapping his arms like a shield around his sister. He felt her tremble. But Eponine kept on:

"I don't want your compassion! I don't want your pity! Go away! Let me be, will you! Mademoiselle Marianne, so fine and pretty!"

She ended with a laugh, disdain dripping from her mouth and bitterness sparking in her eye. It was not the girl's fault. Unfortunate Marianne was only the poor object of the anger and neglect and misery that had been building up in Eponine Thenardier for weeks. And it was all spilt now.

As all bitter and angry words end, this one ended in tears and regret.

The tears came from Marianne. She stood looking at Eponine, stricken. Tears spilled down her pale cheeks but she wiped them away quickly. How often she had tried to act brave! But with a great pain pressing her heart, how could she stop the tears?

The regret came from Eponine. The feverish glow had disappeared from her eye. She stared at Marianne, realizing with much pain that she had just hurt her beloved friend. Marianne, the always compassionate, the always kind—how could she forgive her now? How could… how could Enjolras forgive her now, after hurting his sister?

"Marianne…" Eponine stepped forward, her hand stretched out, but Marianne flinched away. "Marianne, please. I'm… I'm so sorry…"

But the words were not heard. For Marianne was already gone.

**Dun-dun-dun! Leave me your thoughts, pretty please! *My cute, four-year-old brother makes his 'beautiful puppy eyes'… :D**


	8. Candlelight

**Hello everybody! Here's the next chapter! Thanks once again for the reviews and hope you enjoy! :D**

Chapter Eight

They lingered in the empty alleyway, listening until the echo of footsteps striking the pavement died away. Eponine fell back against the grey wall, letting herself slide slowly onto the hard ground.

Enjolras stood.

"What were you thinking?" he began harshly, "You know nothing of Marianne's…" He stopped then—he had turned to her wrathfully as he spoke, and as his eyes fell upon her, crouching in the darkness, pain manifest in her eyes as she lifted them to him, his heart wavered. "Eponine," he said slowly. He looked away, sighing; and then all his anger washed away and he walked to her side, sitting down beside the miserable girl.

Eponine's voice was very low, very hopeless, "She won't forgive me, will she?"

"Marianne is… Marianne does not hold a grudge for long. You know that as well as I do."

"Of course I do," said Eponine hoarsely through cracked lips. "She's loving and kind and… and when I'm with her, I feel like myself again, without having the weight of my life crashing down on me. I feel like a girl, just a young girl with all the innocence and purity that I should've had."

Enjolras looked at her with profound compassion. "I can't assure you, Eponine. But now I don't blame you myself. You didn't know. Marianne is not easily broken," he explained, "But there was something you said that cracked her as it would've cracked me. It isn't your fault, but you were too quick to judge Marianne. She… that is, Marianne and I, we have no parents." He chuckled sadly, "We're orphans. My father died long before Marianne could even remember much about him, but maman… you said she didn't know what it was like to be alone. But Marianne does. She's lived alone with a dead mother for how long, without anyone to comfort her… without her own brother to care for her. Even now, when I try to make her talk to me about it, she won't answer.

"But it isn't your fault, Eponine. I know that now. I know how hard your life has been. Marianne told me about your parents, about your misery. You might think I have no idea, but I do. I too have no parents to love me, though yours are living. And it is up to me to take care of Marianne, to give her the love that she has for so long been without."

Eponine stared at the statue, bewildered. Sitting beside her, talking so openly about his parents, he seemed so human. He seemed like a man who had the same feelings, the same emotions, as any other. But what Eponine loved the most was that now he seemed like a man _of_ the people, not some god come to save Eponine and her people but a man who felt pain, who understood her, who knew how dark her life had been—and still loved her in spite of it.

"Thank you, Enjolras."

"Etienne. Marianne calls me Etienne. As long as you don't mention it to Grantaire and the others, I'm perfectly satisfied."

"Etienne, then," she mumbled, smiling slightly, but Enjolras could see the wild fire rekindling in her eyes.

"Eponine, let me take you back home," he began worriedly, pushing back her dark, tangled hair and feeling her warm forehead. He stood up and leaned forward to carry her.

"I can walk," she protested. "I'm perfectly, perfectly fine." But objections were useless, for the feverish light smoldering her eyes, the pale bruised cheeks that felt icy to the touch, and the burning forehead spoke for her. She stood up quickly, trying to demonstrate her capability to walk, but a haze came over her eyes and she stumbled.

In a flash, Enjolras had one arm around her, just in time to catch her before she hit the pavement. "You are _not_ fine," he said sternly, "Now put one arm around my neck and let me lift you."

"Pardon?" Eponine stared at him, the haze disappearing as astonishment and embarrasment colored her cheeks.

"No complaining," was all Enjolras said, and in his anxiety to get Eponine to a doctor and check on Marianne, he didn't realize he was offering to carry a woman. He simply knew he was helping a friend. "Now arm around me and let's get going."

With one last grumble she did as he asked, and with a grunt, he lifted her up and headed to the house, as if Eponine was as light as a feather. However, considering her circumstances, perhaps the simile was gravely true.

…

"Marianne, open please!" cried Enjolras, pounding on the door with his boot as he balanced himself on one leg. He swayed unsteadily. "Hurry up, _tetue!" _

The door opened and a bewildered Marianne looked at her panting brother and the pale, unmoving girl in his arms. "Etienne?" she began uncertainly, "Is that… what's happened to Eponine!?"

"She's not well," he grunted, carrying the girl to Marianne's bed. "Stay with her, Marianne! Watch her carefully and make sure she rests! If her fever gets higher, get a warm cloth and wipe her head, and if she gets chills, wrap a blanket round her but don't cover her feet! I'll be back with the doctor!"

"Marianne…" mumbled Eponine in a low moan, "Marianne, I'm so sorry…"

"Shhh," soothed Marianne, wiping the girl's forehead, "All's forgotten. Rest now."

"But what I said—"

"Never mind what you said. Besides, I don't really want to relive the moment. You're sorry, and that's that. Etienne said you must rest, so rest."

Submissively, Eponine closed her eyes, letting out a long, peaceful sigh. She was asleep.

At last Enjolras returned and his sister let out a sigh of relief. But the feeling was momentary. A solemn doctor with round spectacles informed the brother and sister of the gravity of Eponine's illness. Malnourished, exposed to harsh weather as well as severe beating… the causes only mirrored the other world, the cruel life that many were forced to face.

When the doctor had gone, Marianne fixed a simple supper for her brother and spent the rest of the time watching Eponine.

"Etienne? She's not really that bad, is she?" whispered Marianne.

"I hope not, Marianne. I hope not."

"What will happen? When she's better, I mean."

"I won't let her go back to her father," said Enjolras firmly, his eyes falling upon Eponine's bruised face, which at least for the moment was free of pain. "Never. If she'll accept, I'd tell her to stay here with us. That way you'd have a companion, I won't have to worry about you all day, and Eponine would be safe."

Marianne smiled. "That'd be nice, wouldn't it, Etienne?"

"Yes. It would be very nice. Sleep in my room, tonight, _tetue. _Let Eponine rest in yours."

That night, Marianne heard someone get up. Half-asleep, she stumbled into her room, nightgown, drooping eyelashes, and all. "Etienne?" she mumbled drowsily.

"Go back to sleep, _tetue,_" was the gentle reply.

Willing her eyes to open, she watched as Enjolras wiped Eponine's forehead with a wet cloth. There were lines under his eyes, and his hair looked like a messy sea of golden locks. His eyes never left the sleeping girl's face.

She whimpered softly.

"The doctor said to do this whenever she woke up," explained Enjolras simply. "Go back to sleep, Marianne. I'll take care of her."

"Let me help," began Marianne, now wide awake, "You look so tired. Please, you go and rest and let me help her."

"It's fine, _tetue. _Really. I can't really sleep anyway."

Later, when Marianne went back to her bed, she found that she couldn't fall asleep either. She simply lay there, shivering and hoping for the day to come. "Please don't let her die, God," she whispered, feeling like the little child who'd huddled in her bed and prayed for her mother's life. But maman hadn't woken up. "Please, please God, don't take her yet."

She fell asleep thinking of Enjolras, his gaze intent upon Eponine, his dark eyes watching as the soft glow of the candlelight flickered upon her peaceful face.

**Erm, please don't ask what kind of illness Eponine's got, because I am unfortunately clueless when it comes to medical facts. Just ask Joly or Combeferre. :D**


	9. Crisis

**Halloo! Sorry for taking a while to update. And... for this rather slow, short chapter. Just getting ready to move the plot forward! Thanks for your patience and support! Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Nine

The next morning, when Marianne got up, she saw that Etienne's bed was empty. Silently hoping that Eponine would recover quickly, the young girl crept into the room where the invalid lay sleeping.

Enjolras, much to his sister's surprise, still sat on the wooden chair he had brought in the night before. His appearance would have looked strikingly similar to a doctor on duty, only this tired physician was sleeping. The lines under his eyes looked like chiseled marks on a statue, and his disheveled hair and rumpled clothes all spoke for his dedicated vigil.

Without a word, Marianne smiled fondly, and rather sadly, at her brother's exhausted appearance—there was pride for his loyalty and care, but regret for the costs. In this state, Enjolras would be hopelessly vulnerable to other ailments.

Marianne wanted very much to carry her sleeping brother to his room; if only he wasn't so heavy! Never mind. It would be better to drag him to the comfortable bed waiting for him—much better than letting him sleep straight and then wake up with a stiff neck and aching body! Keeping this resolution in mind, Marianne pulled and hauled and pulled Enjolras across the floor. With puffing cheeks, she finally dragged her brother into his room.

And poor Enjolras was too deep in his sleep to protest.

With a triumphant wheeze, Marianne plopped him into his bed, pulled up the blanket, and headed back to Eponine.

The sick girl looked much better than the night before. The cut on her lip and the bruises on her cheeks were almost healed. But her face was still as white as a sheet, and while the fingers felt icy to the touch, her forehead burned.

Marianne made herself comfortable in the wooden chair and prepared herself for another long vigil; and in her great anxiety to care for Eponine, little Marianne forgot her breakfast.

Once, Eponine's heavy lashes lifted and her soft brown eyes stared at the weary girl.

Marianne smiled. "Good morning, sleepy head," she said gently, "Feeling better?"

Eponine returned a weak yet stubborn smile: "Much better." She sat up suddenly, ready to prove her stubborn will to survive, but her head swam and she lay down again, sighing in frustration.

"You shouldn't try that yet," said Marianne, smiling lightly and trying to push away her fears. Simply seeing the stubborn Eponine filled her with hope. "Etienne wouldn't like that at all. He spent the whole night watching you, you know."

"Yes," answered Eponine gravely, remembering the hazy yet ever-present face that hovered at her side—the restless hand always gentle as it wiped her hot forehead; the blue eyes never too tired to stop watching her; the flicker of the candlelight, faint yet constant…

"Yes, I know."

Marianne gave her a large smile as bright as the sunshine. "I didn't know you were watching him," she said, grinning widely.

Pale and dizzy as she was, Eponine blushed. "It was hard to sleep in that state," she replied, referring to her illness.

"That's understandable. I wouldn't be able to sleep either if someone like Etienne sat watching me."

"That's not what I meant!" protested Eponine weakly, quite annoyed to be helpless in Marianne's care. "I'm going to sleep."

Marianne stifled another laugh, wiped the girl's face gently, and sat back with a "Goodnight, 'Ponine."

"Goodnight…" Eponine murmured, already subject to the comforting world of sleep.

Marianne too drifted off into one of those light slumbers, half-dreaming and half-conscious of her surroundings. Her empty stomach rumbled but she paid no attention, focusing only on Eponine. Just when Marianne was about to really fall into oblivion, the sharp rrrringg! of the bell brought her up and half-running, half-stumbling to the door.

"Y—yes? Who is it?"

The door opened to see a pleasant face smiling down at her. "Marianne! I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Matthieu! Oh, yes, you did. But that's fine. I don't think the others heard."

"The others?"

"Yes. My brother is still sleeping, and Eponine… you know her, don't you? She's staying with us. She's… she's sick."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I come at the wrong time? Could I help with anything?" His handsome brown eyes were earnest as they looked down at her with profound concern. "You're not looking too well yourself, Marianne."

"What? It's nothing. I just…"

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"Oh, just this… this morning… I think…"

As Marianne looked up at him with large, bewildered eyes, Matthieu burst out laughing pleasantly. "Why, Marianne! You've forgotten your breakfast, haven't you?" He shook his head, smiling, "I'm sorry to say this, but you wouldn't make a very good nurse!"

Marianne smiled: "Won't you come in?"

"Are you sure I'm not intruding? I'd hate to be a nuisance."

"Well, are you a nuisance?"

At such a strange question, Matthieu laughed again. "No, my mother thinks I'm a perfect angel." With that, Marianne ushered him inside and the National Guard found himself standing in the apartment of a revolutionary, and the leader of the rebellion to boot.

"_Monsieur Matthieu, you are assigned to espionage over the rising rebels. Learn their plans. Note the artillery, amount and variety. Count each man—"_

"_Inspector, this cannot be a serious revolution! It is probably only a small uprising. There is no need—"_

"_Do you sympathize with them?" _

"… _if you are serious about this spying, Monsieur, then yes, I feel sorry for them." _

"_Is this how the King's men address their superiors? Answer me! do you sympathize with their cause?"_

"_No, Monsieur." _

"_And will you accept this assignment?"_

"Monsieur Matthieu, are you alright?"

The young man jumped. "Oh! Yes, yes I'm fine, thank you." With an assuring nod, Monsieur Matthieu of the National Guard scanned the room, accepted the cup of tea he was offered, and drank to Marianne's health.


	10. Guardian Angels

***Sigh. Hey guys! I'm so sorry for another short chapter, while my other story has a super long one. To make up for the pathetic length, here's some E/E. Hope you enjoy. **

Chapter Ten

The morning did not end well. It had started out cheerful enough—Eponine was recovering, the kind young Guard had come to pay Marianne a 'friendly' visit, Enjolras was resting. Innocent Marianne had actually believed that perhaps she could reconcile her brother and her dear friend; perhaps she could be the peacemaker, just like Maman had been…

But Monsieur Enjolras, leader of the Paris Uprising, did not wake up in a tender mood, did not open his eyes feeling willing to reconcile with an enemy. And imagine the young man's surprise to wake up and find a National Guard under his very roof!

"_What are you doing here!?_"

There he stood, by the doorway, eyes aflame, disheveled, hostile, willful. "Get out!" he thundered, "Have you come here to spy on me, to plot against me, harmless and sleeping as I was? Have you come to steal my own sister from me?! How _dare_ you, Monsieur! How _dare_ you think you could waltz into _my_ home and sit in _my_ chair and talk to _my_ sister! Get out! Get out and tell your superiors that they are nothing but cowards!"

The National Guard was already gone, wearing a cold, impassive mask as he left. Marianne saw it and despaired, not wanting to believe that her brother could be so cruel, yet not wanting to believe that her brother's words might actually be true… she thought she saw a moment of reluctance and misery in Monsieur Matthieu's face… had she seen it? No, it had been a dream. No doubt he hated her now, as he hated her brother.

"Enjolras! How could you?" she cried out.

"No!" said Enjolras, and his face was the frightening picture of their father's, a long time ago… "No, Marianne! How could _you_! How could _you_ do this to me? What were you thinking, bringing an enemy into our home?"

"Enemy?! He is no enemy, Etienne—"

"How do you know that? Has he given you any reason to trust him?"

"No…" faltered Marianne.

"Do you know, this is why the neighbors back home thought you strange! thought you odd! You're a_ child_, Marianne! A child! When will you learn? You, with your innocence and faith and readiness to give your trust to anyone!"

"No!" rejoined Marianne, anger giving her strength to face her raging brother, "You are the child, Etienne! It will be no surprise when the people do not come and stand with you! How can they put their lives into a man who trusts no one? Do you call a peacemaker a child?! How Maman tried to put things to right, whenever you and Papa had a fight! Do you remember, Etienne? Do you remember how Maman suffered and tried to make peace?" Her voice dropped low, tender, "Please, Etienne. No more fighting."

"_Tetue_," sighed Enjolras. "I can only give you my promise to make peace if you have nothing to do with him ever—"

"But—"

"Ever again. Do not talk to this man, and I will not fight with him."

As he said this, the door of Marianne's room creaked open and Eponine stumbled out, looking pale and tired, "Is everything alright? I… I heard you shouting…" Her worried gaze went from the downcast eyes of Marianne to those of Enjolras.

"We're fine," said Marianne quickly.

"And you? Are you fine, Monsieur?"

Enjolras sighed. "You shouldn't ask that, Eponine. Here we are, fighting like children, when we should be watching over you. Are you feeling better?"

Eponine thought she saw something very much like anxiety in his eyes and a surge of rebellion swept through her. "Of course I am, Monsieur!" she replied stubbornly, "I'll have no one worrying over me."

"You should have told him that earlier, 'Ponine!" chirped Marianne, trying to fill the tense atmosphere of the room with cheer, "He worried over you for hours last night! You could have saved him the grief!"

Enjolras, red as a tomato, began to say, "Don't be ridiculous!" to his sister, but at the same time Eponine vehemently protested, and both of them looked quickly at each other, dropped their gazes, and turned scarlet.

Marianne, feeling this moment the best time to leave, quickly said, "Oh! I have an appointment with… eh… with Gavroche! So… I have to get going, you see!" And with that, she hurried out the door, covering her ears like a child as Enjolras protested.

When she was gone, he sighed. "Marianne. When will she ever learn?"

"I don't believe Marianne needs to learn anything, Monsieur."

"No?"

"No," returned the girl firmly. Then, with a laugh, she continued, "But her brother has much yet to learn!"

"Oh really? And what would that be?"

"Shall I tell you? Well, her brother must learn that Marianne is not a fragile toddler. He must learn to trust his sister's good judgement… even in men..."—Enjolras started and turned red—"and that she would not betray him for the world! He must also learn that there is someone else who watches over his sister."

"Who's that?"

"Me, of course!"

Enjolras laughed, "You? Why, of all the people in the world, would I let _you_ be Marianne's guardian angel? You're already turning her against me!"

Eponine smiled. "You do not trust me, Monsieur?"

"Of course I do, Eponine. You know I didn't mean that. And…" he spoke slowly, "and I will be very busy these ongoing months. I will need you, 'Ponine. I already do need you, really! It's hard enough to manage Marianne, but she behaves like a lamb with you! And if… and _when_ the rebellion begins, I will need you more than ever."

A gentle smile spread across Eponine's features, and at that moment Enjolras thought she really did look like a guardian angel… at that moment, Enjolras knew that he could trust this girl, this Eponine Thenardier.

"I'll be around, Monsieur," said she with a quiet, reassuring nod, "I'll be around."


	11. Animosities

**Hey everybody! Here's the next chapter! Thanks for the reviews and I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Eleven

Enjolras had not been saying it lightly when he told Marianne he would be busy.

Lonely hours turned to lonely days. Lonely days dragged into long, wasted weeks of waiting and sighing. The Friends of the ABC were nice enough, and the company of Grantaire, Eponine, and Gavroche was especially pleasing. Yet it never felt the same to have Enjolras hovering near her whenever she came with him to the Café Musain, and it seemed to her as though the only people she could speak to without having the ever-annoying presence of her brother were Eponine and the old, friendly Monsieur Gervais.

It happened now that Monsieur Matthieu of the National Guard visited the Café Musain more frequently. His visits brought worry to the revolutionaries' brave hearts, as well as troubled thoughts to their otherwise fresh and confident minds. Why did he come so often? Was he really a spy?

"Combeferre, reassure me with one of your convincing arguments," said Enjolras one day when the back door opened and the familiar shuffle of heavy boots sounded in the room. Enjolras did not need to turn and look to know that those boots were very polished and very black.

"Monsieur Matthieu seems to be a good man, Enjolras," replied Combeferre for the umpteenth time. "If you tried to get to know him, you'd come to the very same conclusions. His company is more enjoyable than yours sometimes, now that I think of it. Especially when you've worked yourself into a mood like this. Be careful not to snap. He wouldn't like it."

"What do I care what he likes and dislikes?" said Enjolras contemptuously.

"You ought to be more careful, Enjolras," chastised his friend. "And haven't you realized that Marianne disapproves of your treatment of him? If you don't care about what he likes, at least try and please Marianne."

"Don't ever mention my sister and that man in the same sentence again, Combeferre," said Enjolras coldly, the lining of his jaw hardening.

"Well, look!" pointed out Combeferre, laughing, "There goes your sister now! I like her, Enjolras. Like my own sister. I like her better than you. And I'm beginning to think _she_ should be leading us in this revolution."

"And why is that?"

"She has passion. You have passion. She has strength. You have strength. She loves the people. You love the people—"

"Where is this going, Combeferre?" interrupted Enjolras tiredly.

"Do you know what you're missing? Compassion. No, not sympathy. Not love for the poor, not care the beggars. Marianne can look at anyone, even an enemy, even a National Guard, and have compassion on him."

"So you're saying that I should love these enemies that we shall soon face with rifles in our hands and the purpose of murder in our minds?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. We will have to fight them, but we will never forget that they are men like us, men made in the image of God."

As the two men were talking, Marianne had been quietly making her way to the table where Monsieur Matthieu sat laughing and playing a game of chess with Gavroche. Both heads were bending down, eyes narrowed in concentration, foreheads creased with bafflement. Every time the little boy lifted his hand to move a piece, the National Guard would say quickly, "Wait! Let me think."

This was happening as Marianne inched towards them, hoping not to attract attention from anyone who might call Enjolras.

"My turn!" Gavroche said, sitting up, for during Matthieu's long, long, and very long turn, he had been slowly sagging in his chair.

"Wait!" cried the young man, "Let me think! Let me think! Re-do!"

"You're turn is over!" said Gavroche indignantly.

As Matthieu opened his mouth to reply, he heard a soft peal of laughter behind him. "Marianne," said he, turning delightedly, "Would you like to join us?"

"No, I'd rather watch."

"Well, it's a hopeless fight, I'm afraid. This little imp's got me trapped."

Marianne laughed and Gavroche gave his opponent a fierce, wide grin. "I've a larger brain than yours, Monsieur!" said the child blatantly.

"And I hope a larger heart as well?" laughed Matthieu. "Shall we call it _pax_?"

"Of course not! Courfeyrac says never give up in battle. Especially when you're about to win."

"Oh, pity me, Marianne," said Matthieu, "The boy is going to make me suffer! And in front of a lady too! My pride can't take this!"

Gavroche smiled wickedly, "Not just a lady. She's going to be my wife."

At this Matthieu's lips twitched upwards suspiciously and he shared an amused glance with Marianne before replying, "I'm afraid you can't marry her. You're simply too young and she's too old!"

The boy's eyebrows furrowed in deep thought and he hesitated. "Then," said the child slowly to Marianne, "you'll have to stop growing older. I'm sure it's possible. Courfeyrac fell in love once with a woman once, an' she was more than half his age. But they found a way, I think."

Marianne almost laughed out loud, but the sight of the child's serious little face with its large, solemn eyes and grave air hushed her immediately. "I'm afraid Courfeyrac never found a happily ever after with that lady. But don't worry," she said soothingly, "Courfeyrac found another lady. You can find one too!"

"But Courfeyrac always finds another lady!" protested Gavroche.

"He's just looking for the right one, _tetue,_" laughed Marianne, giving her little fiance the same nickname her brother gave her. "Besides, I can be your mother instead, can't I?"

"Yes," agreed Matthieu.

Slowly Gavroche nodded. "I suppose so," he sighed, "But I still want to make sure that if you can't marry me, you'll marry another worthy man. He can't be lesser than you, Marie."

Matthieu, when he heard these noble words, bent down suddenly so that only Gavroche could hear and whispered something into his ear. Marianne watched, confused, as the expression on Gavroche's face turned from disappointed to completely satisfied. After the young man had finished, Gavroche stood up, gave his farewells, and skipped happily away.

"What did you tell him?" said Marianne, baffled.

"A secret," was the mysterious reply.

"Please tell me!"

"Can't."

"But why not?"

"It's a secret," laughed Matthieu.

Marianne frowned. "I'll still find out, you know. I always find things out. Even Etienne can't hide things for very long."

"I'm entirely convinced! Speaking of your brother, here he comes now. I'd best be going." Matthieu stood up, smiling apologetically.

"Oh, do you have to? Well, I suppose Etienne would only give you another lecture. I'm so sorry he's treating you like this. It's horrid and it isn't like him at all. Oh, do say you're not angry with him!"

Matthieu smiled again. How could he help it when he saw those large, remorseful eyes that looked pleadingly up at him? But his grin stopped midway as he realized that he didn't deserve this apology. A pang of guilt struck his heart. If Marianne knew what a beast he was! If she knew about what he was doing…

"Of course, Marianne."

But he could not escape so quickly from the raging statue. Enjolras was at their table in a split-moment, with all the iciness of the North Pole.

"Monsieur," he began as politely as he could—for he remembered what Combeferre had told him—"I'm afraid I must bring up once more the subject as to why you come here so often. Some of these meetings are confidential, you see."

Matthieu bowed, just as civil, "Monsieur Gervais is not shunned from your meetings, Monsieur, if I may point out."

"Yes, but Monsieur Gervais owns this building," retorted Enjolras, losing his manners rapidly.

"I did not want to have to bring this up, Monsieur, but I am Monsieur Gervais' son."

Enjolras was at a loss for words. Monsieur Matthieu! The son of good old Gervais?! Impossible! The old man's son was a National Guard! At last he stammered out a heated, "Good evening Monsieur!", grabbed his sister by the hand, and stormed out of the back room.


	12. The Chains That Bind

Marianne sighed. She didn't want to argue with Etienne. After all, he was her brother. But though she wouldn't argue vocally, she would not let him have his way. He was too blind! How could he not see how honest and good Matthieu was? How could he not see it!? She looked up, watching as Enjolras continued to argue with old Gervais:

"Monsieur Gervais, you must do this! This is for our Cause! How can you even consider..."

The old man sighed, shaking his head, "Enjolras, you are a young man. You do not understand everything-"

"I understand perfectly," rejoined Enjolras coldly, "You are willing to sacrifice Paris, even France. And for who? This traitor to his own country? This-"

"He is my son." Enjolras stopped speaking and Marianne looked up quickly, for kind Monsieur Gervais's voice had turned icy and solemn, "You are forgetting, Enjolras, the precious bond between a father and his son; or else you never understood it from the start."

Here Enjolras stiffened, and his lips tightened, but Marianne could see the pain in his eyes. Gervais continued:

"But even then, you should know all about the love a brother has with his sister. It is just as deep as that of my love for Matthieu. I will not betray him, Enjolras. I am not with him, and neither am I against him. He is my son, and I am his father. To me, he is not Monsieur Matthieu, the National Guard. And to him, I am not the spy who works for the 'enemies of the King'. I am his father. He is my son. I will not deny him."

"Very well, Monsieur." Enjolras nodded coldly, and taking it for a sign, Monsieur Gervais left the room. Preparing himself for another argument, Enjolras faced Marianne:

"I have already forbidden you from speaking with that man, Marianne," said he grimly, "But you are forcing my hand."

"Go on," returned his sister, "Pass judgment."

Enjolras hesitated. Why was she so calm? The Marianne he knew would go down screaming and kicking all the way. "I wish it didn't have to be so, Marie. But… as I said before, I have no other choice. You are to stay in the tenement, and the Café Musain will not open its doors to you."

"So I'm to be under lock and key, then?" murmured Marianne, refusing to meet his gaze.

"No," said Enjolras slowly, "You may go to the market… but not unaccompanied. Eponine will go with you."

Marianne laughed to herself. Unknowingly, Enjolras was giving her into the hands of the exact person she wanted. Eponine would help her of course. She could see the entire plan come alive. Nighttime. Eponine would help her escape that blasted tenement! Out the window, perhaps. Or if Enjolras was asleep, then out the door. It was as simple as that. Then off to old Monsieur Gervais, who no doubt would disapprove of her plans—but he would help her. Marianne was sure. The old landowner was too kind to refuse.

It had indeed seemed very simple to Marianne. So easy! But then, Enjolras's sister had been relying on one thing: Eponine's loyalty.

"What?" Marianne's voice rang with flat disbelief. "What do you mean, you won't let me?"

Eponine sighed, her feet planted solidly on the floor, blocking Marianne's escape route, "I'm sorry, Marie. But Enjolras clearly stated that I'm to—"

"So you're _his _friend now, is it? Since when were you so eager to please Etienne?"

"Am not!" retorted Eponine furiously, "I'm simply doing what's right. Think about this, Marianne. You'll bring grief to your brother and trouble to me." Her voice dropped lower, "And I didn't want to tell you this, but it may be the only thing to hold you."

"Well?"

"I believe Monsieur Matthieu really is a spy."

Marianne blanched, and then suddenly the color came rushing back in a raging red, "How could you, 'Ponine?" she cried, "You probably told Enjolras that you _believed _Matthieu was a spy, didn't you?"

Eponine pressed her lips together, unable to reply.

"You did! You told him! And you don't even have proof!" Marianne was beside herself with rage.

"I did it to protect you," cried Eponine, "And to protect Enjolras. If that man really were a spy, you letting him in would get Enjolras killed! His revolution would fail! Is that really what you want?"

The clear logic in Eponine's explanation sounded like a thick fog of lies to poor Marianne. Her head swam with questions, and though she tried, she found it impossible to think clearly. Inside, the great storm of emotions—anger, disbelief, a sense of betrayal—added to her confusion.

Refusing to listen, refusing to obey, Marianne threw open the window and leapt outside, grasping a neighboring fur's thick branch. She let out a hiss as sharp twigs scraped her legs and hands, but it didn't matter.

Marianne didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel. So she did what her brother had done—she ran away.

...

Monsieur Matthieu sat behind his desk, restless. He was waiting for his next orders... those orders that would be the end of Marianne's brother and the rest of those young men. But what could he do? With his father's life in danger, what other option did he have? He would have to give his new report. How much men would be involved; how much fire they possessed; their strengths; their weaknesses... he knew it all. And he would betray them to the Inspector in exchange for his father's life.

They had long known old Gervais was harbouring the rebels. But who's death was more valuable? The death of a weak, aged man? Or the death of several vigorous, daring revolutionaries? So the Inspector had made the deal; and now young M. Matthieu sat with invisible chains holding him prisoner behind his desk, waiting for the next orders...

"Monsieur Matthieu." The Inspector had entered so quietly that Matthieu jumped. "My apologies if I startled you," continued Javert stiffly, "But a man of your profession should not easily be caught of guard. Yes?"

Matthieu nodded slightly, his jaw clenched.

"Now, you have something for me?" His cold black eyes followed the National Guard's to the table, where a pile of papers sat waiting to be read. "Excellent. I'll be back tomorrow morning for another report."

"Wait, Monsieur Inspector. You... you have not given me my next orders."

"Ah yes. You are rather eager, young man, to spy on your fellow Parisians."

Disgusted denial almost escaped Matthieu's lips; he held his peace in time, but even without the help of words, his soft brown eyes sparked with revulsion.

"The most logical time the rebels will begin their 'glorious revolution' is tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is General Lamarque's funeral procession." He smiled to himself, "The final blow, the final insult."

"What am I to do then?"

"Force yourself into their group. Earn their trust. I will join you there, in disguise, but we must not meet. Such an occurrence would spark suspicion. When night comes and they are resting, you will fire your weapon into the heart of the revolution. That will be the signal for your fellow Guards. You have your orders, Monsieur Matthieu. Fire your weapon into the heart of the revolution."

Then he was gone, the door swinging until it came to a rest. Matthieu sighed wearily, allowing his pulse to slow down. But a sound from the darkness caused his heart to jump high into his throat, and he looked up, bewildered, his every nerve prepared. "Who is it there?" he demanded. A thing stepped forward, light falling upon its face. He gasped, cried out, "Marianne? What... what are you doing here?"

But she would not answer him. Instead she fixed her eye upon him, and he saw the tear-stained cheeks and the betrayed expression on her suffering face. "You lied," she murmured, her voice rising, "You lied to me and to my brother and to all of us! You wedged a gate between me and my brother, and did nothing to stop it! You... you... Etienne was right!" Tears dropped rapidly from her pale cheek, but she wiped them away, turned upon the man she loved with a fury: "You're nothing but a liar!" she cried, "Deceiver! Betrayer!"

He rose from his seat, his face a mask of pain and torment. "Marianne," he choked. He tried to speak. But before he could understand what was happening, she was gone, stumbling out of his office like an animal blind with rage and suffering.

Monsieur Matthieu sat down behind his desk. How could he stand up and run to her, plead his case, explain? After all, he was nothing but a prisoner, a convict, with no say in this wretched trial.


End file.
